


The Worst Birthday

by Annabec



Series: The adventures of the superhusbands [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday, Brief mention of Courfeyrac, Gen, Some Fluff, mostly sads, sads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-23
Updated: 2013-08-23
Packaged: 2017-12-24 10:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/938833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabec/pseuds/Annabec
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The call came an hour later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Worst Birthday

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theroadgoeson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theroadgoeson/gifts).



> You can thank theroadgoeson for the encouragement of published sads.

Ever since he was nine, Enjolras's birthday had one the same way.

First, he would attend the mandatory brunch that his parents would throw with fifty to one hundred of their closest friends.

Then, when they decided that he was going to embarrass them by talking about things that mattered, he would be sent up to his room, with strict instructions to stay there for the rest of the day.

From there, Enjolras would sneak out his window, creep across the roof, climb into his family's prized maple tree, and would shimmy down to the ground, sprinting to Combeferre's home as fast as he possibly could.

His best friend of nearly seven years would open the door, beaming, and Enjolras would pause to privately admire the way the light from the warm kitchen created a halo behind him.

He smiled, pushing himself to run even faster at the thought.

Combeferre's parents would be there too, he was sure, smiling happily as they always did. His mother would hug him, smelling of cake and honey and what Enjolras could only describe as Maman. His father would offer him a slice of angel food cake as per tradition, along with a pair of Combeferre's too long, too loose pants.

They had insisted he call them Maman and Papa on his eleventh birthday - last year. When he had agreed, Combeferre had launched himself across the room, latched onto him, and hadn't let go for the rest of the night, not even when they'd gone up for bed. (Enjolras had slept well that night, nestled safely in his best friend's arms, his head pillowed on his chest, directly over his heart. In short, that birthday had been perfect. This year was shaping up to be no different.)

He jogged up to the house, and Combeferre threw open the door with a huge smile, dashing out into the yard to throw his arms around his shoulders and hug him tight. Maman soon followed, smoothing a motherly hand over Enjolras's blonde curls. He hummed happily, closing his eyes.

"Your hair is getting long, dear," Maman mused, almost as if to herself. Enjolras just shrugged, twisting in his best friend's embrace so he could look up at her, leaning back and resting his head on Combeferre's slightly pointy shoulder.

"'Ferre likes it," he replied flippantly, smiling angelically up at her. Se just laughed, shaking her head at him and raised her hands up in defeat, before stepping aside to let both boys inside.

"Papa had a meeting that he couldn't get out of," she told them. "He'll be here to celebrate with us later, though. Don't worry."

Enjolras held back a sigh, pushing past Combeferre into the house. He wasn't pouting. Really. Parents worked late all the time. Then again, Papa had never been late for Enjolras's birthday. Not once. Enjolras couldn't help but feel a bit stung.

The call came an hour later.

Papa had called to say he was on his way, Maman had told Enjolras and Combeferre, just before shooing them upstairs, where they had immediately flopped onto Combeferre's bed. Enjolras was sprawled across Combeferre's bed, that is. His best friend, saint that he was, was running a brush through Enjolras's tangled hair, clicking his tongue and muttering something about a girl in their class - Mariella? Marilyn?

Enjolras was ignoring this foolishness to the best of his ability, although the burning knot of snakes in the pit of his stomach - which of course wasn't jealousy, because he didn't get jealous - assured him that yes, he really was hearing every word exactly as it was being said. Random M-girl didn't deserve his best friend's affections. No one did. Not even the new kid down the street, with his stupid dark curls and his stupid twinkly hazel eyes and his stupid impish smile and his stupid sense of humor that had made Combeferre laugh. Enjolras didn't think he was funny. Not at all. Hmph. His grip on the covers tightened, and Combeferre's cool hand covered his, squeezing gently. Stupid Saint Combeferre.

Enjolras sat up, adjusting himself so that he was leaning against Combeferre's shoulders. Words bubbled up, and he swallowed them back, scolding himself. It was so, so tempting to just tell his best friend everything going through his mind - how he didn't think Michelle was cute at all, how he kind of wanted to kiss Combeferre, except he couldn't, because his parents had always told him that that was wrong, because boys weren't supposed to think like that about other boys. Almost against his will, his mouth opened to spill all of this to his best friend, except he couldn't, because Maman was calling for them. Both of them. It wasn't a happy call.

"Combeferre? Enjolras? Come downstairs now, please." Her voice sounded strange. Enjolras's stomach dropped. He pushed himself off of the bed, heading down the stairs with Combeferre, their shoulders brushing. He could feel Combeferre shaking. Maman stood in the living room, clutching the home phone to her chest. Her face was tear streaked. Enjolras stepped closer to Combeferre.

"Maman?" Combeferre's face was white. Enjolras's heart sped up. He stepped closer to wrap a protective arm around Combeferre.

"That was the hospital," Maman told them, sinking onto the nearest chair. "They want me to come down. They think they have your father. I need to go identify the body." By the way her voice shook, though, Enjolras knew she knew already. Combeferre did too, judging by the way his legs seemed to give out underneath him. Enjolras held him close, tears streaming down his own face.

Not Papa. Anyone but Papa. They'd talked about calling child services. About trying to get him placed with the family down the street, the family of the elf boy. He'd wanted Enjolras, but couldn't afford to have another child in the house. He'd loved him. And now?

Gone. Just like that.

Combeferre was climbing into his lap, despite the height difference, burying his face in Enjolras's shirt, and Maman was there, holding onto them both. Vaguely, Enjolras could hear someone muttering something about Papa wanting him, and he couldn't figure out where it was coming from. Except then Maman was stroking his hair, and Combeferre was clinging to him for dear life, shaking and growling "mine" into his ear. It was possessive and protective. It felt good.

Eventually, though, Maman had to leave, and Enjolras and Combeferre dragged themselves upstairs, pulling on pajamas and curling together on the bed like a pair of puppies.

"Enjolras?" The blonde hummed in response, snuggling closer.

Hesitantly, Combeferre dipped his head to press a kiss to his mouth. It was chaste and innocent, a rather awkward affair, not much more than a pair of lips touching for half a second. After all, they were only twelve, and Enjolras's emotional range had barely evolved from that of the teaspoon size. Still, it sent moths - not butterflies, because Combeferre was afraid of them - on a rampage from his mouth to his toes. It wasn't a bad feeling.

"Love you, E." This was said in the overly articulated manner of one who was fighting desperately to stay awake. In fact, once the proclamation had been made, Combeferre let out a sleepy sigh, dropping off immediately, being both emotionally and physically exhausted from the events of the day, despite it being only four o'clock.

(The fact that Combeferre was the worlds lightest sleeper did nothing to prevent Enjolras from squeaking and falling asleep with an inappropriately huge smile on his face. However, at Papa's funeral, Enjolras whispered it into gripping Combeferre's hand during the service. He said it again during the burial, keeping Combeferre upright as he sobbed, watching the casket being lowered into the ground. It wasn't said back until afterwards. After that, nether boy mentioned it for another two years, until the year they were fourteen. But that's another story entirely.)

**Author's Note:**

> Give me prompts on tumblr (agentprouvairecateur)


End file.
